


Mile Low Club

by nimbostratus



Category: Veep
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 23:21:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimbostratus/pseuds/nimbostratus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So she shuts him up with her mouth, which, wow, if she'd known how well that would work she would've done it much earlier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mile Low Club

**Author's Note:**

> For prompt: _Selina/Kent in which Kent heads up Selina's presidential campaign._ I'm not American, hope its not too obvious.

Okay so Kent has pulled some bullshit statistical crap to back up his ridiculous opinion that doing the whole campaign in a private jet wouldn't go down well with the common people. Which, lets see, is completely insane for a number of reasons:

1\. Oil would fucking love it if she crossed the US in a gas-guzzling private plane, okay? And that means money. Fuck the Clean Jobs Initiative, that shit is gonna get wiped off the map once she becomes president. She still has three years worth of bendy spoons to stir her coffee, hasn't she suffered enough?

2\. Jonah's Yeti-length legs wouldn't be crammed into the back of her seat. Which, really, why the fuck is he even here? And how is it even physically possible for a coach to be so goddam small?

2a. It would be way less satisfying to kick Jonah off a coach than it was to kick him off a plane.

3\. This isn't even some 'high flying politician' thing! She's _independently wealthy_ , okay, she can afford her own jet. It would probably actually be beneficial for her campaign to show them what she'd achieved. Inspire them to aim high. Reach for the stars. Climb every mountain. Bop to the top.

4\. Planes don't have to stop for the night and force everyone to be put up in a shitty hotel in some city 200 miles south of bum-fuck nowhere where her staffers drink the minibars dry every night because they've been forced to drink water at mixers ever since that one fundraiser Mike almost caused Texas to secede from the union, Dan and Amy stopped talking to each other outside of email, and Andrew finally slithered back off into the primordial ooze he came from (Oh, you think that's a metaphor? Spend Christmas break with the in-laws in the depths of Maryland enough times and you too will be praying for a crocodile to drag you head-first into the swamps before you have to spend another second hunting your own turkey. Food shouldn't be that much work, okay, because if it was there wouldn't have any fat people left to patronize with rhyming slogans about Getting Moving! Compulsory exclamation point).

Anyway, long story short:

Kent follows her into her hotel room, which, Jesus-fucking-Christ-on-a-low-fat-cracker is quite possible the last thing on the planet she needs right now. She's already come up with four ways to strangle him to death with that embarrassment of a tie and he's only been talking for fifteen minutes. He's just started off on some appalling analogy comparing the importance first time voting numbers to the precision required to prepare noodles (wait, when the fuck did he start cooking noodles? In her hotel room? How long has she been zoned out for?), which, Mary-Mother-of-please-God-shut-the-fuck-up, looks like its gonna last about another hour, and she does _not_ have time for this. For fucks sake, Gary's already practically anaphylactic at the thought of her not getting the eight hours of beauty sleep she requires to turn her under-eye circles from dark eggplant to light Barney the Dinosaur, okay.

So she shuts him up with her mouth, which, wow, if she'd known how well _that_ would work she would've done it much earlier. Like, not even White House earlier but her first presidential campaign earlier because fuck if she'd known back then how to make him stop talking about the effect her divorce was having on polling figures she would've been giving him blowjobs under the table at the Senate.

The microwave pings for the noodles as she finally manages to pull off his fucking tie which is so ugly she wouldn't even use it to tie him up with (which wait, hold that thought and save it for after the primaries). _Selina_ he says, just once, but she just says shut up shut up shut _up_ , says it into his mouth and bites it into his shoulder, and he does.

After, he tries to talk to her about polling numbers but she kicks him out the room before he even finishes the sentence. At least now she knows how to make him stop talking and, bonus: she's still got the noodles.

(She kicks Jonah off the coach the next morning. Its actually more satisfying to watch his bewildered Picasso painting of a face disappear into the distance in a cloud of dust than it would be to push him out an emergency exit door with a parachute.)


End file.
